liya :D

30 days of agere: day 20: favorite cartoon character

i uhhhh like drawing them

‼️slight One Piece live action spoilers‼️

I'M LITERALLY GOING INSANE

(Tickle Fight Fluff)

Dearest Mother, It is on these late nights, deep within bitter jaws of New England winter, that I most miss the manor. Not that I’m at all ungrateful; Dr. Franklin has been most accommodating. But I confess, in my more selfish moments, I long to sit by the parlor fireplace with you and father again, reading stories of the colonies and dreaming of our future in them…

In the loft above the Pennsylvania Gazette printing office, Sarah Phillips paused and stroked her chin with a floppy snow-white quill. She wasn’t wont to complain, and held no desire to give such an impression, but it was true…these colonial houses were quite drafty, especially at night. The sun had long since tucked in for its nap, snow-flecked wind whistled outside, and her eyes ached from the weak candlelight on her desk. The creaky floorboards felt chilly and rugged under her bare feet…she wasn’t enthralled by the prospect of splinters in her toes either. Still, she put her meager gripes aside, warmed her hands with a low breath, and continued to write.

The colonies still believe against all hope that they may yet topple the King’s empire. A rival newspaper today even suggested that Americans align with the French against him! All this talk of war threatens to enflame the government further, and I fear for the future of our subjects. Your loving daughter, Sar-

“Haha! Got eet!”

From behind, a small hand reached in and snatched the pen right out of her grip, halting her sentence in a jagged splotch of ink. She turned to her right, and there beside her, grinning like he’d discovered his Christmas gifts early, was Henri.

Sarah rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Very funny, Henri. Ha-ha. Now please give me my quill.” Her laugh had the slightest twinge of sarcasm. But something in Henri’s eyes gave her pause…he was antsy, anticipatory. Before she could ask what mischief he was up to, her elbow suddenly slid backwards on the desk, carried away by the whoosh of a paper sheet scraped over wood.

Her letter was gone. Henri had been a distraction. Sarah whipped her head around, trying not to fall over in her seat, and who should she meet face-to-face but James Hiller, his teeth formed into a grin that looked almost sinister in the flickering light, the letter to her mother clutched in his hand, beneath that smug straw-colored ponytail which she emphatically did not like at all. Nope.

“Hey! Give those back!” she insisted, grabbing for the note. Her chair groaned as it scooted back.

“What? We just want to see what you’re writing! You’re going to be a journalist, right?” James smirked at her. He dangled her letter out behind him, just out of her reach, pushing against her shoulder with his free hand. (“Ah-ah-ahhhh, not done. ‘Dearest mothah…’” It wasn’t fair; his arms were longer than hers!) Just when the intrepid redheaded reporter thought she’d finally maneuvered herself around him…her fingertips grazed the soft, worn lip of the parchment…James rolled it up and threw it away to Henri, who leapt into the air and caught it eagerly.

Sarah frowned. This was becoming less humorous by the second. “Stop it! That’s private!”

“Sarah, why do you write to your mozher every single day? Ze lettairs will take monss to arrive en Eengland!” Henri reached around behind her back and passed James the quill, which the blonde boy then lifted high above their trio of heads, laughing all the while. And as soon as Sarah frustratedly reached up high to retrieve it, like she were answering a question in class, he tossed it back to Henri again. It was a ridiculous game of keepaway, with Sarah dancing in circles back and forth between the two boys, who swapped around her letter and her writing instrument in whirlwind turns until all three of them began to get dizzy chasing each other around the room.

Time for the Hail Mary. Sarah had one last trick up her sleeve…or rather, up James’. Reaching up, she yanked his hair and pawed underneath his outstretched arms, and the unexpected tickle caused him to laugh and flinch and drop her letter for just long enough that she could catch it. “Aha!” she smiled in triumph. Unfortunately, her attack had given Henri an idea. From behind, Sarah suddenly felt goosebumps rising from her waist, where the plume of her feather pen was fluttering ticklishly against her, and she suddenly broke into nervous, surprised giggles.

“Oh! Oohoo, Haha-Ha! Stop that!” She spun on her heel and angrily snatched the quill out of Henri’s hand. But he just stood there with that same dopey, impish grin on his face.

Now, Sarah’s patience was up. "So that's your declaration of war, is it?" she growled. In most unladylike fashion - a preemptive strike - England suddenly lunged at France and shoved him back into an old green chair, where his youth and smaller stature gave her the advantage. Henri tried to escape, but she engulfed him, pinning his skinny arms helplessly to the backrest.

“No no, zhat’s not fair! Heh! James, hehelp!” He was already laughing.

James merely chuckled and stood by, arms crossed. “Sorry, little buddy; you’re on your own for this one!”

“Hmph! We’ll just see how you like it,” Sarah huffed proudly, skittering her dainty aristocratic fingers deep inside the folds of Henri’s jacket. The teensy French urchin wriggled violently in the chair, and all his rocking made the floorboards squeak in rhythm with his nonstop snickers.

“Heehee-Heheh! Hngk! Heheha! Stohop eet!” Phlegmy, hiccuping snorts piled up in the roof of his mouth. He retreated into himself with the instinct of a pillbug and balled his fists up close to his chest, slapping them feebly against Sarah's biceps, but he was swallowed in the seat cushions. When she squeezed the side of his belly with her thumb, he laughed loud and squirmed with a bouncy vigor…either Sarah possessed a God-given gift for finding giggle spots, or he was even more ticklish than he thought!

“Now, have you learnt your lesson, young man?” Sarah asked him, eyelids lowered, a beleaguered schoolmistress in all but function. While her ‘student’ giggled for mercy, praying that James would come to his rescue, the location of the quill, and that of the letter, were quickly forgotten by them both. Focused on spidering Henri’s extremely-pokable ribs, Sarah had carelessly left her weapon behind, abandoned on the floor behind her for any enemy soldier to seize.

A soldier like James Hiller. And he’d noticed.

“Ha…another tactical error from the British,” James smirked and, kneeling low, the junior paperman picked up the feather and wiggled its soft barbs smoothly up & down on the bottom of Sarah’s left foot.

The noise that erupted from her mouth ascended in pitch like a firework, from a low static hum to a sparrow’s chirp! and she hopped straight up from the ground in a fright. Henri had scarcely registered his newfound freedom when the panicked posh girl bounded away across the floorboards and scurried toward the wall on all fours, kicking her feet in the boys’ direction. Both turned to look at her, stunned, while the youngest struggled through rapid breaths.

“No! No no no no no, please. Don’t you dare.” Sarah had her knees pulled up and her arms spread against the walls. She tried to remain stern and decorous, to not let her compatriots see how rattled she was. But it was too late. They were already flanking her from both sides, crawling toward her like cats on the hunt.

“Oh, no,” Henri admonished. He was visibly excited and smiling wide…not tired at all anymore. “Now eet is your turn, mon cherie!”

“You wouldn’t - !”

In one swift swooping motion, James lifted Sarah’s right leg off the ground and ensnared her calf in an arm lock, so as to prevent her retreat, and her foot struggled and floundered against him as she yelped - which didn’t help at all when the Hiller boy’s fingers began to scratch it. Henri, bubbly with anticipation, took a more clumsy approach: he sat down on Sarah's left ankle, pinned it to the floor, and waggled her feather pen against her sole in wide, careless swipes.

“Ha-Ha! Wh-why you…! Ha! Haha! Imp…imperher-tineh-hent! *gasp* Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha! S-s-stop tickling my feeheet, Ha-Ha! I c-hommand youhoohoo!”

“You command?” James mocked Sarah, smiling deviously. His rough fingers continued their shuffle. “Oh, a thousand pardons, MISS Phillips, but the colonies are revolting!"

“Oui! Vive La resistance!” Henri giggled.

"Heheh…us Yanks aren’t taking orders from you British girls anymore!”

“W…w-we Yanks!” Sarah couldn’t stop snobbishly correcting James’ inadequate grammar, even through her laughter. “Noho, Hee! Noho, I’m…t-t-hicklish there! L-Leave them alohone! Plea-Ha!”

There was no room to wiggle or escape. All the English lass could do was desperately pull away and press against the wall until her laugh withered into silent gasps for air. (She wondered if this was what prisoners in the public stocks had to endure.) Only one last burst of energy was left in her…

POW! One wild kick later, James & Henri were bowled over on the hardwood floor.

Quickly catching her breath, Sarah rose to her feet before they could and stood over them, fists clenched and teeth bared. Her ears were turning red. The only part of her that didn’t feel warm was her feet, still chilly on the nighttime loft floor. In all the time she’d known them, she’d never looked at James (or Henri) with such tumultuous feelings, and she didn’t know why. They weren’t even paying attention to her, just groaning in pain and laughing to themselves. Furious curses visibly trembled on Sarah’s lips…in her manners she knew better than to let them out, but when she struggled to speak, the insults rolled up into her eye sockets and pushed their way out as bitter tears instead.

“You’re…y-you’re scoundrels, the both of you!” she at last shouted painfully. Before the two lads could react, Sarah stormed out of the room and down the hall, slamming the door behind her, and left them there alone in baffled silence.

"Did…did we do somesing wrong?" asked Henri. They were still down on all fours. That mischievous joy, glowing on his face just moments before, had curdled into nervousness and humiliation, and James was the same. Why was Sarah mad? They were only having fun….

They didn’t understand girls…always getting temperamental for no good reason.

Immediately concerned, they barreled down the stairs and into the print shop after their friend. The store was barren and tinted blue-black like a bruise in the scant moonlight, filled with towers of unused paper sheets piled high and ready for the next edition the subsequent morning. There sat the creaky press, the dusty shelves. But no Sarah.

“Sarah, come back! We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you!” James called…Nothing. Both turned and ran toward the back stockroom to continue the search…surely she couldn’t have gone far…and the two of them moved into the adjacent room so fast that Henri bumped against a heavy barrel the size of Ben Franklin and nearly tripped over his own shoes. They were in such a rush, they didn’t even hear the low, melancholy sniffling noises that emanated from a nook behind the barrel.

If only they’d stayed a second longer.

Sarah shuffled her feet underneath the hem of her nightgown and leaned forward into her knees. The harder she stubbornly clenched her cheek muscles into a frown, the harder it was to pretend she wasn’t crying. Her brow squeezed her eyeball like a bulbous grape, and a blobby, warm droplet gushed out and drizzled down her face. Angry at herself as much as the boys, she aggressively massaged her eyes with the back of her hand. Stop it, Sarah. Stop it. You're behaving like a child.

That boy...he was such a loutish, uncivilized, crude, intolerable little... why anyone would ever want to spend time with him, she hadn’t the faintest idea. It wasn’t just about the tickling. Being embarrassed in front of James was bad enough alone, but the fact that he himself had teased her in this way...as if he had no regard for her feelings at all! But why should she care? Other boys at school in England treated her the same way, dunking her ponytail in inkwells and all the rest. James was no different. But for some inexplicable reason, none of their antics irritated quite like his. Everything he did made her so…so….

Click! Before Sarah could process that thought, the door to the storeroom unlatched, and James & Henri spilled back out into the shop. She could see that they looked anxious, even in the shadows, but they still didn’t notice her tucked away in the corner.

“Do you sink she went down ze street?”

“I don’t think so, Henri. She probably hid and ran back upstairs when we went in the back.”

Sarah held her breath and ducked her head low. If they didn’t leave soon, she’d have to sniff hard to keep her nose from running, and then they’d notice her. Their shoes creaked on the floor behind her, and for a brief moment she feared she was discovered, but at last the sound of their footsteps clomped up the stairs and out of earshot, and when the door shut behind them, she let out a heavy sigh. All clear.

Good Lord…that was awful. But it comforted Sarah to know that the boys did care about her. She knew, rationally, that they were just goofing around, and meant her no harm. Whatever she was feeling about James, it had subsided. She’d go back upstairs and apologize in a minute.

Just as soon as she found something to blow her nose on.

********************

…..

I bet she SCREAMS if you tickle her.